


i'll carry you in my arms

by deluxemycroft



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Image, Chubby Thor (Marvel), Depression, Fat Thor, Fix-It of Sorts, Incest, Insecurity, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), M/M, Marriage, Miscommunication, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Protective Thor (Marvel), Sibling Incest, Soul Magic, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:28:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26652946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deluxemycroft/pseuds/deluxemycroft
Summary: There is a body in Thor’s bed. It is a body he would know no matter the skin it wears, no matter the strength of his eyes, no matter how many years it has been. There is nothing left for him but die alongside it. His final failure, in a great, long line of failures, is that he cannot bring his brother back to life.
Relationships: Loki/Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 117
Collections: Thorki Baby Bang 2020





	i'll carry you in my arms

**Author's Note:**

> this was my first ever big (baby) bang! it was very fun and i hope to do more in the future. 
> 
> huge thanks to my artist, moopzies, who did some incredible art. first time i’ve ever had fanart of anything i’ve written and it’s really special! thanks to everyone for reading and hope you enjoy!!
> 
> [art link](https://twitter.com/moopzies/status/1312488416429240320)

Thor kisses him first. Loki freezes in shock for a moment, hand seizing around the stopper Thor had thrown at him, and then he drops it and clutches at Thor’s vestments, arcs into him and lets himself slowly sink down into the kiss. It feels like cool water lapping over burnt skin; it feels like the first time he ever successfully cast a spell; it feels like everything he’s ever wanted and never truly dreamt he would ever find.

He’d said, “ _I’m here,_ ” and Thor had come closer and Loki had expected no more than a hug—perhaps he would be lucky and Thor would wrap both arms around him and hold him close—but then Thor had paused right in front of him and looked at him in such a way that Loki’s very heart quaked in his chest. Loki had been subject to a great many looks from Thor in their long lives, but never one such as this: as if Thor was witnessing something precious, as if _Loki_ was that something precious, something loved, and then Thor had tipped his head forward and—

Loki’s mouth opens, slowly, hesitantly, as if Thor will taste the coolness of his mouth and recoil in disgust, but then Thor only brings his hands up to gently cradle Loki’s jaw and he slowly explores the entirety of Loki’s mouth, his tongue and lips strong and sure, as if he truly wishes to be where he is, as if he would be no where else, _with_ no one else. From where Loki’s hands are curled into his cuirass, he can feel the steady, thunderous beat of Thor’s heart, and his own heart matches the rate, blood rushing through his ears. He kisses Thor in return, tongues tangling, and then Thor takes in a heaving breath, pulling back, eyes still fluttered shut, and he pushes his forehead up against Loki’s, tipping their heads together. Loki lets his body sink into Thor’s, lets Thor hold him up, lets himself think of nothing else other than the feeling of Thor’s body against his own and Thor’s strong arms wrapped around him, strong but holding him so carefully, as if Thor is worried he will break.

Then Thor says, “Brother,” and it comes out in a ragged gasp, so many emotions that Loki can not even begin to name in that single word, and for a moment Loki revels in it. He thinks that Thor must call him brother because no other word can seem to encompass the breadth of his feelings towards Loki, as if Thor must feel the same, that he sees Loki both as his brother and something more.

But, as Loki has never had an enemy greater than his own mind, fear fizzles through him and cuts through his mind in a great swipe. Was this some scheme of Thor’s to keep Loki with him? Thor had been the one to say they should go their separate ways, after all. Thor had stopped fighting to keep Loki with him, and Loki had returned regardless, because how could he do anything but? How could he do anything other than always flit back to Thor, the moth to his flame? But how could he know that this was not how Thor intended for it to happen, that he was desperate to keep Loki alongside him, that he would do _anything_ to keep him close? They had done no less to one another before.

Surely Thor had called him brother because he could never see Loki as anything but. Disgust at his own weak heart is what makes Loki tense up in Thor’s arms, is what makes him pull back out of Thor’s warm grasp, is what makes him look at Thor and he does not know what he sees when Thor looks back. Thor looks concerned and his mouth is red and swollen and Loki wants to tell him that he does not have to debase himself to Loki’s own unnatural desires to keep him close, that he would stay close regardless, but his mouth does not seem to work.

He wants to say something, _anything_ , as if he could fix this, as if he could manage any words to make Thor love him as Loki thinks he could ever be loved, but instead he runs.

He always runs.

Loki scrambles into the closest empty room and slams it shut and locks it behind him. No, he thinks. He will not let Thor touch him if Thor does not truly want it. Even as his hands shake with need and his heart trembles with want to have Thor close again, even as his very skin seems to ache with the desire to have Thor hold him again. _No._ He will not be pandered to; he will not be treated as if he is a spoiled child that must be given whatever he wants so he will not leave. He finds a sink, washes the taste of his brother’s mouth out of his own, and does not look at himself in the mirror. He knows what Thor must see when he looks at him, and Loki does not think he could bear to see it.

When he returns to Thor the next day, he stays well out of arm’s reach and when Thor uneasily tries to bring up the day before, Loki brusquely informs him that as far as he is concerned, it did not happen. He tells himself the heartbroken look on Thor’s face is from Thor realizing his plan did not work, that Loki will always leave if he wishes, that he cannot bind Loki to him with false affection and false words and false kisses, that Loki will always be smarter than what Thor gives him credit for.

They spend the next month in space as they head towards Midgard. Thor and Loki work tirelessly to care for their citizens; there is enough food and fuel and supplies for at least three months in space, and they must find a place to dock and trade for supplies. They have little to trade, but Loki can cast all manners of spells and brew potions, which both Thor and the Valkyrie believe will suffice. He has noticed that Thor and the Valkyrie have been spending time together over the past couple weeks, and even as the thought of Thor truly wanting nothing from him and his suspicions being correct makes him wish to weep, his heart twists and his gut aches at the thought of Thor being with another. But he has no recourse to say anything, so he keeps his mouth shut. It is only his own weak heart that makes him wary, and he cannot fault Thor for seeking warmth in another. He does not let himself wish that Thor could have truly wanted him; Loki has never been one for luck. Or, at least, not for any luck that he has not made himself.

Loki somehow becomes the de facto appointed royalty for citizen complaints, and he hears a great many of them throughout his day. He listens patiently to both sides of an ongoing feud between two families about their shared space in the close confines of the ship, and ends up assigning them alternating work shifts so that they do not come into contact with one another. He brings down swift and harsh justice on an Aesir who is accused of sexually assaulting another, pressing his fingers to their forehead and finding the horrific memory of the assault and then spending two days creating a prison in the depths of the ship.

He and Thor spend hours each day, alone together, poring over maps and ship schematics and talking over their duties to their people. Heimdall helps, but he tends to talk more to Thor than he does Loki, which causes Loki to feel like he is an outsider again, and he finds himself making excuses to leave whenever Heimdall comes around. He feels selfish, which is not a new feeling, but he doesn’t think it has any place on this ship. He wants to be greedy with Thor’s attention but knows he does not deserve it; he has never deserved it, even if he occasionally likes to think otherwise when Thor pays attention to only him even when there are others around him.

Often he thinks he should not have returned to Thor. But how could he have done anything else? Where else would he have even gone? It is his fault and his doings that caused Asgard to fall; the Nine Realms must be in disarray, and Loki could’ve threaded himself into the chaos and machinationed more of it and spent the rest of his life running. But he supposes he is tired of running, which is the reason he does not use the Tesseract. He thinks he could manage to wield the Tesseract in such a way to take the ship to Midgard, even if such a great act of seidr would surely kill him, and is readying himself to reveal his secret to Thor when Thanos arrives.

For the first time, he does not run. He has the Tesseract; he could run forever. But he thinks of Thanos’s armies and the Black Order and Thor facing them all alone, and even as his brother is mighty, there is a chance he is not as mighty as Thanos, and Loki cannot bear to leave his brother to face Thanos alone. For a moment, he thinks that Thor may be mightier than the Power Stone, and he feels his heart break when Thor begins to roar out his pain, and for a moment, he does not understand—how can there be anything that can hurt Thor, who is greater and mightier than anything else? But he feels stunned with the realization that there may be things in the world mightier than Thor; there is, however, no time to think of it, as his stolen lease on life is about to expire.

“You really are the worst, brother,” is the last thing Thor ever says to him, and Loki thinks nothing other than, _Yes, I have never been anything but_ , as he holds up the Tesseract. He vows himself to Thor, seidr slipping out from between his lips, binding them tight and Loki has always been bound to Thor, but something about this feels different, and Thanos breaks his neck and everything goes cold and dark before he can realize he wed himself to his brother.

* * *

Thor rarely sleeps anymore. When he does, when his body finally gives into the pull and he collapses into exhaustion, he dreams. His dreams show him what could have been, if he had only been stronger or faster or smarter. He sees all of his mistakes, all of his losses, everything he did wrong, and Loki is in so many of them. Loki is the great loss of his life. Thor would take everything else, all the other tremendous losses of his life, if Loki was returned to him.

When he does sleep, he dreams of his brother, dreams of all the lost moments between them, dreams of watching as a small Aesir child on the _Statesman_ comes up to his brother and takes his hand and leads him out of the room and Thor follows to see that the child wanted to show Loki the drawing they had made of him. He dreams of their childhood, of all the moments between them where Thor should’ve been kinder or been more understanding or what would have changed if he had reached out earlier and taken Loki’s hand as he had so often wished.

So he rarely sleeps. He finds anything and everything to distract him. Midgardian alcohol does little to him, but he finds that if he drinks enough of it, enough to kill a human or a lesser being, that it brings forward just enough of a fog in his mind that he does not think of his losses. He does not think of his lost home, of his mother, of his father, of his friends, and finally, blessedly, he does not think of Loki.

If he does sleep, it is in fits and starts, and it generally comes when he has stayed awake for many weeks straight, and it generally seems to happen to him when he is watching someone else play a game or watching a movie or avoiding whatever few duties he still has left that he has not pawned off onto someone else, usually the Valkyrie. He tends to collapse on his armchair and sleep fitfully for a few hours and then Korg or Miek or even the Valkyrie will find him and wake him. He had asked at first—“Why wake me?”—and Korg had quietly and almost ashamedly told him that he cried in his sleep and they could not bear to see it.

So his sleep comes rarely. Which may be why the body in his bed comes at such a surprise.

It has been four years since he failed to kill Th— _him_ and lost Loki. Four years since his very heart was shattered and slaughtered before him, four years since he made so many mistakes and paid so, so dearly for them. He had lost everything that kept him alive and his heart still beats only out of habit. He had done all he could to keep what remained of his people safe and now he drinks enough to keep his mind middled and his thoughts far from him and his grief lessened.

But there is a body in his bed, and he knows it even though it’s skin is unfamiliar. The being who owns that body is the only thing that Thor would know no matter the skin he inhabits. He freezes in the doorway, his beer falling from his nerveless hands, and he clutches to the doorframe like it will be able to hold him up. His eyes fall to the corpse’s chest and he suddenly hears a great keening, a great cry of grief, and when the chest does not rise nor fall, he realizes the sound comes from him. He cries out and stumbles forward, tears blurring his vision, and he claws at the corpse, cold arcing through his fingers as he grasps the body and clutches it to his chest.

Loki’s head lolls sickeningly against his shoulder as he holds his body close. He cradles his baby brother in his arms and sobs over his corpse. He does not think of how it could have appeared to him, how it came to him in his small cabin on Midgard, how the body he never let himself go find could have somehow made its way back to him; all he thinks is that Loki is finally in his arms again. He made so many mistakes in his life and Loki is comprised of so many of them; if there is one great regret in Thor’s life, even beyond the Decimation, even beyond Thanos, it is that he could not show Loki how dearly he loved him.

He sobs into Loki’s hair and holds him close. His Jotun skin burns through Thor’s clothes and he can feel his bones beginning to freeze, but he does not particularly care. He has already failed in the greatest way someone can fail; what is being dead when the love of his life has been dead for four years? What is death when all those he cares about are also dead? He is only still alive because he has been too great of a coward to take his own life; he made his mistakes and he must spend the rest of time atoning for them.

He does not know how long he sits on the floor with his brother’s corpse in his arms as grief comes over him in earth-shattering waves, as a great storm rolls in outside and shakes the very ground with his grief, but it is long enough that he can feel the thunderous beat of his heart begin to slow. He sobs again into Loki’s hair, hating beyond belief that he cannot die with him, and then he heaves himself to his feet and gently lays his brother back on the bed. His tears are frozen on his cheeks and as he pulls away from Loki, they slowly begin to unfreeze and slide down his face. As they fall to Loki’s body, they freeze again in small pools. He does not notice at first, as he gently runs his frozen fingers over the familiar planes of Loki’s face, as he smooths Loki’s hair back into a wave over Thor’s dirty pillow. He has never seen Loki’s Jotun form and he finds it so beautiful that his heart aches. He has seen many jewels and gems in his life but none compare to the clear blue of Loki’s skin. 

He spends so much time gently tracing the heritage lines over Loki’s face that he barely hears when Korg and Miek return. Fear at them finding Loki races through him and he yanks a sheet over his dear brother’s body and then rushes out of the bedroom and slams the door behind him, giving the two of them an uneasy smile when they walk into the living room. Korg and Miek exchange looks and Thor asks about the pizzas and kegs they’re carrying, and he does his damn best to pretend the body of his brother is not in his bedroom.

They clearly know something is wrong with him but they also know him well enough by now not to ask. All he needs is a distraction, to not think, but when he cracks open a beer and brings it to his trembling mouth, he hesitates for the first time in four years. He has a rash thought that Loki’s body is a hallucination, that the frost on his clothes and slowly seeping through his veins and only now is beginning to fade is from some magic of his own and not because Loki, even in death, somehow returned to him.

The hovering, oppressive storm outside begins to shake the sky in his grief, and Thor leans forward, dropping his beer to the floor, and he buries his head in his hands. His shoulders shake as the rain sleets against the windows, as his small house shakes when thunder roars and lightning strikes. Korg comes over to him to ask if he can do anything and Thor shoves him back, yells for the two of them to get out of his house, and when they refuse, Stormbreaker comes to his hand and he reminds them that he is the God of Thunder and he will not be trifled with. They leave and he bars the door behind them and he returns to his bedroom, where Loki is still on the bed.

Thor draws the curtains and turns on the light, puts Stormbreaker down close by so that if anyone does try to come in to take his brother from him, they will have to face him and his axe. Gently, he begins to disrobe his brother’s corpse, and he feels no shame when he looks upon his brother’s nakedness.

He has not let himself think of it for four years, but he wonders what he did wrong. He wishes more than ever that Loki had been willing to speak with him, been willing to tell him what he had done wrong so he could fix it, so he could kiss him again, but as always, Thor had been too late. He had never been enough for his brother. Loki had always seen what had been lacking in Thor and when he had the chance, he had not worked to fix it. He had put the betterment of his people, of Asgard, over his brother, and he has regretted it every day since. He may be King of Asgard, but he has always been a bit too selfish for the role, a bit too willing to put his own interests ahead of Asgard’s. Loki has always come first.

But now, even as this is his corpse, he has his brother back.

Healing magic comes easily to him, always has, and he funnels every single bit of magic still left inside him to Loki’s body. But his hands begin to shake and his head begins to swim and he has to stop. Thor promises his brother that he will do anything and everything he can to bring him back, and if he cannot, then Loki will spend the rest of Thor’s life on this bed. Even if his body begins to rot, even if he begins to break apart, even if he begins to smell, Thor will never be parted from him again.

He knows they are hallucinations when they come, when his heart triples it’s beat with anxiety and his hands shake so hard he cannot even eat, but he wanders his small house and the wind buffets the windows and clatters the doors and he sees many monsters that he has no hope of defeating and he sees his mother and his father and he even sees Thanos, the Mad Titan that he killed in the end anyway, and he sees his brother. He sees Loki, standing before him, alive and hale, and his brother smiles at him and lets Thor kiss him, lets Thor love him, lets Thor hold him tight and close.

When he comes out of the haze, he finds that it seems he vomited up every single beer he drank and every single bite of food he ate in the past four years, and he feels no better for it, but Loki’s body is still in his bed and he supposes that is all that matters. He gets to cleaning and it takes a very long time, and his hands shake and his throat burns and his eyes water and he does not stop. His gut clenches and he has to run to the bathroom a few times to vomit again and use the toilet, but whenever he checks on him, Loki is still there, which means that there is no end Thor will not go to to take care of him. He failed at everything else; he will succeed at this.

Loki is dead, there is no other truth than that. His heart does not beat, his lungs do not work, his blood does not run through his veins. His skin is cold and when Thor touches him, his own skin freezes. When Thor pulls back his eyelids, his red eyes are clouded over, and when Thor peeks into his mouth, it is dry and his tongue hangs limp. He is surely dead, yet Thor refuses to accept it. He cannot handle any more loss.

He wracks his mind, trying to find any reason for Loki’s body appearing in his bed after so many years, but there is nothing. He had thought Loki’s body lost when the Statesman exploded, and he had never let himself search for him. He couldn’t; he couldn’t know if Loki was truly dead or only keeping himself safe until the battle was won. If he did not see Loki’s body, then perhaps he could have a bit of hope in his heart that Loki had somehow survived and was merely waiting for news of the battle to be over and he would come after it ended and...and Thor would see him again.

But a body, travelling somehow through space and time to appear on his bed? No reason he thinks of can make sense, so he puts it out of his mind. Instead he puts his energy towards bringing his brother back. He locks all the doors and covers the windows and whenever someone comes knocking, he tells them to leave, and if they do not, he brings down a storm and lightning scares them away. It almost does not work on the Valkyrie, who Thor thinks might actually be stubborn enough to be hit with lightning and make him come outside that way, but she ends up leaving after telling him how stupid he’s being. He knows. He knows. But what else can he do but be stupid? How can he do anything else when Loki is in his bed and all appearances show that he is dead but no other Jotun has ever burned his skin in death before? How can he do anything else when he harnesses lightning in between his fingers and thinks he can feel some pull in return from Loki? How can he be anything other than stupid when it comes to Loki?

He sleeps next to Loki. He develops permanent frost burns on his side and on his hands and he does not care if they never heal. He funnels every single ounce of magic and seidr and storm from inside of him into Loki’s body, and nothing changes. He learns that he has failed at this as well, and if there is anything he can do, he does not know what it is.

All of Asgard’s knowledge is lost to him and he cannot run around to his constituents asking if they know of any necromancy magic; they will surely look at him as if he has gone mad, and perhaps he has. Perhaps the body on his bed is a hallucination and perhaps he cradles nothing more than air or a pillow to his chest every night when he holds Loki’s body close and sobs into his hair and promises that he will do anything to bring him back and keep him safe. He presses kisses to Loki’s face, to his lax, empty mouth, to his chin and cheeks and closed eyes and down his chest, and as the frost burns his lips, he can only wish that he had been able to do this once when Loki still lived.

But Loki is dead and Thor is alive. It seems to be a truth that should not exist, that it should not be possible for one of them to be dead while the other still lives, but the corpse in his arms tells him otherwise. He resolves then that if Loki is dead, then so will Thor be dead, and if he must wait the long wait to starve to death, then he will do it. He will let Loki’s body burn him and let the frost stop his heart and he will let them find him in a few months or a year and they will burn their bodies together and mix their ashes and they will be together in the end.

That is what he wants.

But as Thor has learned, he so very rarely gets what he wants.

* * *

Help comes from the most unlikely of quarters.

He ignores the knocking when it comes, even though no one has bothered him for the past month or so. He holds Loki’s body close and his arms have frozen shut, so even if he wanted to release Loki from his arms, he would not be able to. But the knocking is insistent and it sounds different than the knocking that came before, so Thor burns away the frost and the ice with lightning and heals enough of the burns that he can move, even painfully and slowly, and he hefts Stormbreaker for what he is certain is the last time as he moves to the front door. He means to scare them off and frighten them and even threaten them with the axe but when he opens the door, there stands before him a man. A human. It takes him a moment to recognize him as Hawkeye, and Thor frowns down at him. He looks tired, worn down, as if he has walked for a very long time, as if Thor is the end of a very long journey.

Clint Barton’s eyebrows raise as he takes Thor in. “Huh,” he says, the tired curve of his mouth curling into something a bit ironic. “I didn’t realize you could look this shitty.” Then he shrugs and motions towards the inside of the house, where Loki’s body is, and Thor bodily moves in front of him, glares down at him. “Let me in, man. I got somethin’ for you.”

“Leave me alone,” Thor rasps out. It is the first time he has spoken in months. Every word feels like trying to break through miles of ice. His hand seizes around Stormbreaker and he hefts the axe, even as it feels like he is moving through a frozen river, even though the axe has never been this heavy before. “Whatever you thought you would find, it is not here.”

Barton sighs. He rubs a hand over the back of his neck and his sleeve slips down, revealing the first hint of a tattoo on his arm. It makes Thor frown. The two of them are alone at Thor’s house on top of the hill, but Barton glances around them anyway. “He’s in there, right?” he asks, looking back up at Thor. “Loki.” When he says Loki’s name, his face twists in a grimace; he says Loki’s name like it is a poison. “I hate the guy, but I promised, and we don’t have much nowadays other than promises. Let me in, man.”

Thor surges forward, pushes Stormbreaker’s sharp edge underneath the archer’s chin, means to bully the truth out of him if not cut off his head, but Barton just rolls his eyes and ducks and twists and dodges past him into the house.

“Wow,” he calls back, “Your house fuckin’ stinks, Thor.”

He goes unerringly to the bedroom and Thor slams the front door and runs to him, knocking him back from the door, and he points Stormbreaker at the human. “You do _not_ get to see him,” Thor snarls out. “His very skin will burn—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Christ.” Barton is quicker and more agile on his feet than Thor and manages to duck around him again to kick the bedroom door open. “Wake up, asshole.”

When Thor surges into the room behind him, he finds that Loki is still dead, but his skin has changed, and is now Aesir pale again. It has been _months_ , Thor never thought he would see his brother like this again, and he feels something strange begin to twist in his gut, something flower and open in his heart, and if he thought of it, it would feel something like hope—

“What have you done?” he gasps out, shoving past Barton to wrap his arms around Loki’s body. Stormbreaker has somehow fallen from his hand; he barely has a mind for the weapon when Loki is in his arms again. For the first time in many months, Loki’s skin does not burn him as they touch, and when Thor cries over him, his tears do not turn to frost upon his cheeks, do not fall to Loki’s skin and turn to ice.

Barton has already pulled out a peculiar looking knife from his belt and Thor watches as he yanks his sleeve up. On his arm, there is something pulsing beneath his skin, something red and white and blue and orange and purple and all the colors Thor can even imagine. It seems to be straining against the confines of Barton’s skin, as if it is trying to escape, and suddenly Thor knows what it is, recognizes the feeling of it, and he asks, voice soft and torn, “How do you have my brother’s soul?”

“He gave part of it to me,” Barton tells him, knife poised over the pulsing lump, face twisted in a grimace. “He knew something was coming and wanted to be prepared. Asshole. I didn’t even remember until a year or so ago until this God awful thing appeared on my arm.” For a moment, Thor has a brief moment of pity for him, but he feels pulled towards the soul in the archer’s arm in a way he’s never experienced before, and all thoughts of anyone other than Loki flee from his mind.

Thor doesn’t know Barton well enough to trust him, but he remembers Steve Rogers, and he trusts and respects Steve, and he knows that Steve always held this man in high regard, and that is what causes him to gently lay Loki’s body back down and step away.

He also knows that trust has no place here; if Thor wants the impossible, if he wants his brother to live again, then there is no other choice. He must let this unremarkable man do what he could not: bring Loki back to life.

Barton moves forward, cuts into his arm and the soul inside falls out onto Loki’s chest. For the longest moment of Thor’s life, nothing happens, and then a great breath heaves Loki’s chest as the soul sinks beneath his skin, and his green eyes flash open.

Barton ceases to exist in Thor’s eyes as he wraps Loki in his arms and he feels the beat of his heart and the rise and fall of his chest and the way his arms begin to move and then his fingers clutch at Thor’s chest.

Then, comes Loki’s voice, tired and cracked and worn, and Thor squeezes his eyes shut and he cries. Somehow he still has tears left from all the crying he has done, and he thinks that if tears could bring someone back, surely he has shed enough.

“Brother,” Loki says, and his voice is music.

* * *

It takes many days for Loki to regain his strength enough to sit up, and then even more to stand and walk, but Thor would wait the rest of their lives for him. Barton left once he was sure Loki was alive, after he and Loki exchanged some biting comments that seemed bordering on fond, and once Thor plied Loki with drink and what bits of food he could scrounge up, Loki explains.

He had known, of course he had known. Thanos was always going to kill him; there was no end that Loki met where Thanos did not hunt him down after Loki’s inevitable betrayal and kill him in the most painful way he could imagine. So when he was on Midgard, before the Avengers captured him, he cast a spell, and when he died, his body and soul would reappear in different, specific places on Midgard and Barton would have to bring them together to bring him back to life. Barton had remembered a year prior and had gone to where Loki had told him his body would be, but the cave had been empty, so he’d walked to New Asgard to find Thor, and had realized where Loki’s body was once he could feel the soul in his arm pulling on him as he got closer.

It was not a particularly good plan, but it had been the only one Loki had been able to make, and it had clearly worked. It was also the reason that all of Thor’s magicks had failed; he could not bring Loki back when there was no soul to resurrect. That failure, that _one_ , had not been his fault.

Thor cares little for the specifics. All he cares is that Loki is back with him. Loki explains that his body should not have appeared in New Asgard, but he thinks it may have something to do with the vow he made before Thanos killed him. Thor cannot bear the thought of Loki remembering his own death and holds him close, cradles him gently, cards his hand through his hair and if there is anything more precious in Thor’s life than his brother, he cannot name it.

It is over a week after Loki relearns to walk that he finally mentions Thor’s hair and weight. Thor covers himself in shame and Loki goes soft and quiet for a moment, and then reaches for him, puts his hands on Thor’s arms, and tells him the King of Asgard has never anything to be ashamed of.

“A poor King,” Thor scoffs, “to sit in his home for months and hold the corpse of his brother.”

Loki sends him a sly look, mouth curling in a smug smile. He likes hearing of how Thor grieved for him, the selfish little bastard. “Then why be a King at all?” he muses. Thor brings him a glass of water after helping him sit carefully on the couch, and then Thor sits next to him, brow furrowed in a frown. “Why not give it to someone else?”

“Give it to you?” Thor spits in return, finding himself falling back into old habits before he even realizes what he’s doing. Loki merely raises his eyebrows at him, delicately takes a sip from his glass. Thor sees the long length of his throat, thinks of Thanos’s hand wrapped around it, and reaches out to cradle the back of it, to feel the strength of it, to feel the life in him, feel the healed break, feel the fact that Loki yet lives in spite of everything that has worked to keep him dead.

“No,” Loki says finally, eyes glittering. “Perhaps the throne is not suited to either of us.”

It takes a moment for Thor to catch on. “What are you saying, brother?”

“Perhaps the two sons of Odin take to the stars,” Loki offers up. There is something in his eyes, something that reminds Thor of when they were younger, when Loki would try to convince him to steal something or trick him out of his cape. “Perhaps...we do not need any more than the two of us.”

It is a welcome proposition and one that Thor greedily wants to accept. But then he thinks about his mistake, about how he had not properly killed Thanos the first time, how he must pay his penance, and running off with his brother is not any repayment for his failure. It solves nothing; Thor's broken heart means little when it is compared to the entirety of the universe that he could not save. Loki seems to read this on him and he pulls away, face closing off, and he swallows the rest of his water and then carelessly drops the glass to the floor.

“It was a silly idea,” Loki says. “Pretend I did not say it.”

His brother has always been the pretender between them. Thor looks at his hands in his lap, looks at the roll of his stomach, feels his unkempt beard and long, tangled hair. “Why must you always pretend?” he rasps out. Old hurts well up in his chest and he tightens his hands into fists. Lightning sparks over his knuckles and he thinks of the way they kissed on the _Statesmen_ , thinks of the hurt and betrayed look Loki gave him after, thinks of the way he’d thought Loki had wanted him too, thinks of the soft way Loki pressed into him, as if his angular body had been all that Thor needed to soften his own hard edges.

Loki snorts, pushes to his feet. “Do not think on it,” he tells Thor, wavering a bit before he regains his balance. “I wouldn’t want you to strain your poor head.” He casts Thor a dismissive look and then glances over the small living room before making his slow, unsteady way to the kitchen. Thor grits his teeth and surges to his feet, grabbing Loki’s shoulder, keeps him from running.

“You always do this,” he spits out. “This—this _double-speak_ , as if we are having a conversation only you are party to! Tell me what is on your mind and say it _now._ ”

“You wish to know my thoughts?” Loki snarls out. Thor nods eagerly; all he has ever wanted was to understand Loki, and he has always felt as if he falls short of what Loki sees in him, as if Loki holds him to an unachievable standard. As if Loki believes he could be better, but there is no better for him. He can only ever be Thor, no matter what Loki thinks of him. He failed to kill one Titan and turned into a parody of himself out of grief. What could Loki possibly think of him now? He could not even bring his brother back from death; he had to wait for Loki to save himself. What weakness could Loki possibly see in him? Loki turns to him, shoves Thor back with surprising strength, and then Loki tells him, “I think you a liar, Thor. You wanted me to come to Midgard with you and you _knew_ my secret and used it against me. As if I could not taste the lies upon your lips, _brother!_ I am the Lie-smith; you think you could spill your lies into my mouth and I would not know?”

“Your secret?” he asks. “What secret of yours could I ever know, Loki?”

“That I would have torn my heart out for you if asked!” Loki is nearly screaming, tears welling up in his eyes, and Thor wonders if he is too slow for his own good, if Loki is truly telling him what he is hearing, if Loki could truly ever love him like Thor wishes so dearly. “That all I ever wanted was _you_ and the only way you could give it was so that I would not leave.” Thor wants to hug him, wants to hold Loki close, wants to keep him safe from all that would ail and harm him. “You did not have to do that,” Loki says, and his voice seems distant, and he does not look at Thor as he continues, “I would have stayed regardless.”

“What do you say?” Thor finally asks. “All I ever wanted was you.”

Loki scoffs. He opens his mouth to spit more vitriol and Thor has always managed to say the wrong thing to Loki, no matter his intention, so instead he moves forward himself and kisses his brother. He wraps his arms around Loki, feels the angles of his body, feels the way his own softness sinks in as Loki leans into him as this time, Loki does not pull away, feels the way Loki’s shoulders quake as his mouth opens and he kisses Thor back with every inch of ferocity and passion Thor knows was inside him all along. _I love you_ , Thor spills into his mouth. _I love you I love you I love you._

One of Loki’s hands lands on his stomach and Thor tenses, then pulls back when sly fingers threaten to creep under his dirty shirt. He shakes his head, ashamed, and glances up at Loki to see his brother’s eyes narrow at him, sees the way Loki slowly licks his lips, as if to taste Thor upon them, and then Loki says, “What could you possibly wish to hide from me?”

Loki promised himself to the Thor he had been, not the Thor he was now. Loki brought himself back for a different Thor than who he had become; sometimes it feels as if he cannot even be called Thor at all. He feels as if that version of himself fractured when he failed to kill Thanos and he rebuilt himself into the facsimile of himself he is now. He cannot, in good faith, show himself to Loki when Loki deserves so much better.

“It is nothing,” he tells his brother, brushes some of his soft black hair off Loki’s face. “I merely thought we could...take it slow.”

Loki makes a thoughtful sound and to distract him, and because he can, Thor kisses him again, and Loki’s mouth curls against his own. Thor easily holds Loki’s slim weight, lets Loki push him back to the couch, holds his brother so carefully and gently as Loki perches on his lap, not daring to let him go. His hands slide under Loki’s tunic and he shakes as he feels the smooth expanse of Loki’s skin against his fingers, as Loki pushes him back and explores his mouth diligently and purposefully, as if Thor is a spell he must learn or a book he must finish. Thor feels tender and bruised in Loki’s grasp, and this time, when Loki’s sure fingers tug at his shirt, he thinks that he might as well get it over with and lets Loki pull it off.

Thor breaks the kiss and looks away from his brother as Loki sits back and looks at him. “What right does the King of Asgard have to be ashamed?” Loki asks, as he has asked before, and Thor can think of a thousand reasons, but his mouth does not seem to want to work, so he says quiet. “Do you think I feel shame when I see you, brother? As if you have not seen me underneath this skin as well.”

“I never know what you think,” Thor sighs, but the question does the trick and he looks up at Loki, still perched on his lap, tunic open at the neck and rucked up over his stomach. His pale cheeks are flushed and his eyes are bright and Thor wants to kiss him again, but restrains himself. Loki does not hide himself from him, not here and now, so Thor attempts to do the same. Perhaps when it is just the two of them, Loki will be open with him; perhaps he can give Thor that honor, regardless of whether he deserves it. But when he looks at his brother, he sees nothing other than arousal and affection. “But I am—”

“You are alive,” Loki presses, “and what matters more than that?”

Nothing. They are both alive. Thor can ask for no more, and when Loki kisses him again, hands spreading out over and kneading into Thor’s stomach, as if he likes the warm, round swell, he thinks of the cold corpse that had been in his bed and the warm body up against him now, and perhaps what their skin holds means little when they are together again.

* * *

The Valkyrie walks in on them fucking, which is how New Asgard finds out about Loki’s return. Thor pulls her aside and asks her if she would be Asgard’s King, and when she immediately declines, he tells her that he is not giving her an option, which makes her laugh and accept the role. They do not tell anyone that Loki was dead and brought himself back to life, and after Loki’s welcome back celebration and the days-long party and the feast and the ale, Loki kisses him in front of all of their people. There is a brief pause and then there comes a great cheer and a call for their wedding. Loki pulls back and laughs, and the fondness towards him and their people on his face makes Thor’s heart ache.

“But we are already married,” Loki tells him, and this makes Thor smile and he pulls Loki to him again, presses kisses to his cheeks and between his eyes and then hugs him, holds him close, showing all of New Asgard how dear his brother is to him.

“Husband,” Thor croaks out. Loki buries his face in Thor’s neck, underneath his beard, and long, thin fingers tangle with Thor’s own.

Thor pulls back first, keeping their hands clasped, and then he calls the Valkyrie forward, telling everyone she is their new King. The cheer is lower this time, but now less in intensity, as she has been their acting King for a few years now, and Thor smiles at her as she lifts her fist to the sky, a crown appearing in her hand. Thor gently sets it on her head for her and thunder answers his call, crowning her the new King of Asgard.

“It could not go to anyone more worthy,” Thor promises Brunnhilde, and he takes Loki’s hand again. He calls for another round for all of their people and feels a great weight lift off his chest; they are in good hands, and the best hands are not his own. He and Loki sit back down as Brunnhilde moves around the party, talking with her people, and Thor looks down at Loki’s hand clasped in his own, their fingers intertwined, and he smiles. He’s right where he needs to be, where he belongs. Korg and Miek come up to them and Thor gives them his apologies for his rudeness, and they tell him they understand, and he hopes it's true.

Later that night, when they go back to their house, Loki pushes him into the bath and washes his hair and beard, plaits in his proper braids, combs through his hair and trims it for him. He somehow has proper Asgardian beads made of uru and he gently plaits them into Thor’s beard, into the ends of the braids in his hair, and Thor leans into his grasp, eyes fluttering shut, trusting him more than he has trusted anyone else in his life. He has always trusted Loki, even when Loki has told him not to, and it feels as if all that trust is finally being returned.

Loki washes him and then Thor washes Loki in return, hands shaking as he inspects every inch of his brother’s body, as he makes well and sure Loki is still alive and with him. He thinks there may come a day when he truly believes that Loki is back with him, that he can look at Loki and not think for a moment that he must be a hallucination of his grief-addled mind or of the alcohol he spent so long using to erase every waking thought, but that day comes ever closer every single time he can see and feel Loki’s skin against his own.

In the morning, after they have come together and come into each other and loved one another, they leave. Thor gives his apologies to his friends but he has no choice; he must right his wrongs, he must pay the back the price.

Thor admits to himself that he enjoys the look of shock on Steve Rogers’ face when he and Loki appear in front of him at the Avengers Facility, and he laughs when Steve asks if Loki is real, if he’s truly alive, if he survived Thanos’s attack. Thor knows what he’s thinking—if Loki survived, then perhaps others could have as well—but Thor also knows that his brother is unique, that he is one of a kind, that there are no men like him, and if there is anyone to ever survive Thanos, it is Loki only. Thanos had thought to bring his version of destiny to them and Loki had gone his own way, for there is no path for Loki other than his own. Thor considers himself lucky beyond measure that he was included in that path.

Loki smiles at Captain America as Black Widow and Hawkeye exit the Facility, standing on either side of Steve. Barton gives Thor a once over and there’s an approving look on his face at seeing that Thor has started to take care of himself again. He may never be who he was, but he can become who he is. Natasha is expressionless, but Thor likes to think there is hope in her yet.

“Of course I am here,” Loki says. “For where else would I be?”

He turns back to Thor, holds out a hand, and Thor does not hesitate to take it. Loki’s skin is a bit cool, but Thor has always ran hot, and his fingers fit easily in Thor’s, as if they were made for one another. The sun rises over the Avengers Facility and shines off Loki’s hair, catches his green eyes, and Thor’s breath catches in his chest. If there is anything or anyone else in the world or in all the stars in all the galaxies that is more worth looking at, Thor hopes to never find them.

Loki tugs him inside the Facility, following after the Avengers, and Thor follows, knowing that wherever his penance may lead them, they will be together, and little matters more than that. If Loki must run, he will not run from Thor; wherever they go, it will be as one.

**Author's Note:**

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